


X-ray

by yeaka



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas struggles with sharing Atticus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	X-ray

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for silentgirlspeaksout’s “Thomas/Atticus+Rose, maybe this time from Thomas' POV” prompt on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/). This isn’t properly historical or British. Sort of a companion piece to [Integration](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2908253) and [Boiga](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4331058).  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Downton Abbey or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Thomas lies on his front, because Atticus is difficult to look at. He’s handsome, yes, cute in a way, but there’s too many thoughts in his eyes, and this makes it easier for Thomas just to luxuriate in a good, thorough _fuck_.

They still don’t do this often. Maybe Atticus’ dick was reserved for Rose at one time, but it’s Thomas’ now. If he wants it. He can maneuver his way into their bedroom too easily. He can determine what they do, what they say, but he can’t control how they _feel_ , and that’s the tricky part. Atticus wraps his arms around Thomas’ middle, buries his face in Thomas’ shoulder, and rolls his hips hard into Thomas’ ass. A groan rips out of Thomas’ mouth, just as Atticus’ opens along the back of his neck. He’s scraped only gently with teeth, then kissed, and soon he’s being scattered in them, all across the tip of his spine and shoulder blades. His face is turned in the pillows, the opposite side of Rose. He stares at the wall while Atticus showers him in affection and slides into his slicked channel in fluid, even thrusts. 

Atticus is _good_. Maybe it’s just from practice with Thomas, but it seems natural. His cock is a lovely fit in Thomas’ tight ass, and it doesn’t so much stab as slip home, only to grind in every time, searching for that bundle of nerves that makes Thomas fist the sheets and hiss through his clenched teeth. The pleasure’s all over him: the weight on his back, the warmth of bare skin, the slight sweat beaded alone Atticus’ stomach and smearing across him when they meld together. The room reeks of _sex_. Atticus is loud, enough to drown out Rose’s little whimpers. When Atticus makes love to Thomas, he _means it_.

And that’s vaguely terrifying. It feels too good. Too heavenly, sinful though it is. Thomas doesn’t want to get addicted, but he’s already there. He doesn’t want to get attached, but he’s worried it’s starting, that when he sees Atticus even from a far, his heart clenches just a little bit too much. He’s growing to want something he can’t have, and he’s been down that road before. It only ever leads to heartache. Even when the sex is fantastic.

Atticus’ thighs squeeze at Thomas’, spread around them. Atticus’ hands run over his chest, along his sides, down to his hips to squeeze, indenting flesh. Atticus exhales in Thomas’ ear, somehow both clumsy and erotic. Atticus presses a chaste kiss to Thomas’ cheek, and Thomas thinks, not for the first time, of stealing Atticus away.

He probably could. If he worked it right. But even he couldn’t do that to Rose, not now, after she’s been so very good to him, and if he cares about Atticus at all—which he stupidly does—he wouldn’t do that to _them_. He almost wishes he had an interest in Rose, too, so he could slip into both their lives. Of course, if he could like Rose, his life would be all different. He wouldn’t be this old and still alone and miserable. But he is and he can’t.

He shuts his eyes. He’d want all of Atticus, and he can never have more than half. He tries to concentrate on something else: the delicious slide of the thick cock plunging into him, the burn around it and the hardness when he clenches. For a moment, he tries to pretend it’s _Jimmy_ , but that hurts even more.

Finally, he thinks of nothing. He clears his head, opens his eyes again, but doesn’t focus. He stares at nothing and lets Atticus roll into him again and again. Over his own laboured breath and Atticus’ newest moan, Thomas hears Rose say something, and Atticus reacts. His hands shift, one slipping beneath Thomas’ stomach, between him and the sheets. Atticus’ fingers lock around his cock. He’s given one firm pump, and he grunts in satisfaction. Atticus does it again, falling into rhythm with his hips, so that he’s pleasuring Thomas on both ends better than he could ever know. 

It doesn’t take too long after that. A few more thrusts, and Thomas turns his face into the pillow to stifle his cry, his cock spilling in Atticus’ hand. He paints the sheets with it, body curling deliciously, shivering in sheer delight. Burning, he lives in that quick second that makes everything worth it and alright. 

But then it’s fading slowly, and he’s just panting for air, nuzzling against the pillow for the right angle. He becomes aware that his neck is sore, and that Atticus has stopped, lying heavy atop him and just buried inside. It always feels differently after his climax. He still murmurs, tired but affectionate, “Keep going.”

Atticus mutters, “You’re beautiful,” kisses the side of his mouth, and does. Thomas just lies there, bathing in the excruciating adoration, wanting a cigarette and wondering if this’ll be the night he stays.


End file.
